


It Hurts To Become

by theandrogynousdragon



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce
Genre: A lot of hurt and some comfort, Ableism, Amnesia, Angst, Because trauma, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Soldiers, Childhood Trauma, Dark Magic, F/M, Funsies, Gen, Genocide, Ghosts, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Angst, I Made Myself Cry, I was just having a lot of feelings about this kid you're welcome, I'm Sorry, Identity Issues, Imperialism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Linguistic Drift, Linguistics, Loss of Identity, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Muteness, Nightlight centric, Nightlight is autistic you can't convince me otherwise, Non-Linear Narrative, Overuse Of Parentheses, Overuse of italics, Psychological Trauma, Survivor Guilt, all the trauma, bad things continue to happen, bad things happen, because of the memory stuff, but it exists, definitely gaslighting, fantasy linguistics, gaslighting? i think? probably gaslighting, in chapter two, in which someone's canonical memory issues have a sinister explanation, none of the child death is graphic but it DOES happen, of a sort, selective mutism, selectively mute Nightlight, some vague medical trauma that isn't accurate at all because of the magic stuff, the golden age was not so golden, there will be comfort eventually, this poor kid just can't get a break huh?, uhhh, why is that not a tag?? it's canon you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theandrogynousdragon/pseuds/theandrogynousdragon
Summary: Star-boy, they call him. But... but he wasn't, once. (He doesn't remember why, but the name they give him always, always sounds wrong in their mouths.)
Relationships: Katherine/Nightlight (Guardians of Childhood), Nightlight & children, Tsar Lunar Lunanoff IX/Tsarina Lunar Lunanoff IX, he's like a big brother to a bunch of kids okay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	It Hurts To Become

**Author's Note:**

> please heed the tags, this fic deals with some very heavy stuff

Star-boy, they call him. But—and this is important—he wasn't _always_. (He does not remember, later, and learns to ignore the grief lodged in his chest.)

* * *

His name, once, was Korizaar, and he was of the planet Lorithi. Korizaar, to a child's untrained ear, sounds like Corisahar, the Imperial word for a comfort-light. He tries not to hate the child for it. It is not their _fault_ , after all. He is too quiet by nature to correct them, anyway. (It's not the _worst_ thing he's been called.)

* * *

There are monks, many years later, that name him Nightlight, and he wants to _scream_ at them because _that is not his name he_ _ **knows**_ _it's not his name_ but he stays silent and drags a smile on his face because _at least they gave him one_. (It's not like he remembers what it is, anyway.) 

* * *

He doesn't remember it, but this slow erosion of self was _planned_. He was the subject of an _empire_ , after all. Empires are not given to mercy, and empires do not tolerate dissension.

* * *

Tsar Lunanoff VIII razes Lorithi to the ground and leaves the planet a lifeless husk for _daring_ to attempt secession from the Empire. (It does not matter that there were only a few who truly wished for secession. It does not matter that the people begged. It does not matter that they were frightened. Emperors are not kind, by nature, and he carries that Knowing in his bones even when he forgets all else.) Korizaar is the last of his people, and only survives because the Tsar decides to spare the child that reminds him of his nephew. “Your name, boy,” the Tall-One-King-Angry-Brow demands, and Korizaar only manages to tell him what it is after he's been cuffed, sharply, about the ears. Desire to avoid pain will loosen tongues, and the Tsar knows this well.

* * *

Korizaar is born Odd. There is nothing wrong with him physically, but he doesn't cry like other newborns do. He doesn't cry at all. His mother only smiles, and names him “wise shield”, saying that his silence means that when he does speak it will carry greater meaning than most. (The second part of his name is because he has been born into a war, but he will never pick up a shield in his life.)

* * *

He Knows, in the way of Knowing that children have, that his thoughts are strange. He doesn't understand some things in the way people are, and he understands more that people don't think of. He asks his mother about it, but all she will say is that she named him well. (He never remembers his mother's name.)

* * *

The Tsarina Henata is kind to him. She has soft hands and wears so many jewels that he honestly thought she was _made_ of them when he first met her. He likes her, despite himself. She is kind to him. (Poison is sweet at first, sometimes.)

* * *

The Tsarina Henata wields magic like a keen blade and slides stardust into his bones. It _burns_ and it feels like _freezing_ to death and a little like _drowning_ , all at once. (He _screams_ , and spends the next week trying to tear the glow out of his skin.)

* * *

He gets used to answering to Corisahar. It's almost his name, or the sound is almost the same. He can't quite remember. (His head aches whenever the Tsarina smiles at him, but he assumes it's because of how powerful her magic is.) And it matches him, now. Light. (Did it not match, before?)

* * *

Star-people and Lorithians both aged slower than other races. Corisahar does not age at all, trapped forever halfway between child and adult.

* * *

They give him armor to wear and tell him he is to protect the Tsar's children. It feels wrong in a way he can't place. He doesn't like the armor very much. He is Not Allowed to tell anyone that, though, so he doesn't tell anyone anything at all. He can't be punished for saying Wrong Things if he doesn't speak.

* * *

The Tsar's firstborn is a daughter. The daughter's name is Merea, and she is Odd like Corisahar is Odd. Merea has bright silver eyes and _blackblackblack_ hair, all wild corkscrew curls and hiccuping, stilted giggles. Corisahar lets himself love her, just a little. She is only a Very Small One, after all. And Merea doesn't mind his quiet, doesn't shout at him to talk when the words get all tangled up in his mouth. She talks enough for the both of them, and talks to anything that will sit still long enough for her to _start_ talking. Merea disappears when she is five years old and he never finds out what happened to her.

* * *

The Tsar's firstborn (that's not right, is it?) is a son. Lehelt is Normal. Lehelt is Loud. Lehelt does not know how to _stop_ _screaming_. Corisahar will protect him because he has to, but he doesn't like the child at all. Lehelt is arrogant, even as a Very Small One, and it only gets worse over time. Lehelt looks a great deal like his father, all _blackblackblack_ eyes and ice-white hair. _They are Absolute Opposites_ , he thinks, but he doesn't know where the thought came from. He has a lot of those. (His head _aches_.)

* * *

Lehelt takes a wife, and his new wife looks absolutely terrified of her husband. Corisahar's attempt to introduce himself is cut short when the woman _stabs_ him. (She still looks terrified, and Corisahar feels a bit bad for her. Dahata is just... not ready for the Palace.)

* * *

Dahata seems to enjoy proving him wrong by _excelling_ under her mother-in-law's teaching. (Dahata stabs him again, multiple times. He pretends not to be unsettled by both her love of violence and the idea that the color of his blood is wrong. It's not supposed to look like molten silver, is it? He doesn't remember it being any other color, but. It's just _wrong_.)

* * *

Lehelt has a daughter. Niara.

* * *

Lehelt has no children yet.

* * *

Lehelt has a son. Velote.

* * *

Both of Dahata's pregnancies were stillborn. (His _head_...)

* * *

Lehelt has a son, and the gods let him keep this one. ( _This_ one? There were no _others_ , silly star-boy.) The Tsar Lunanoff IX gives his son the name Lunar, after the first Lunanoff their name came from. Corisahar loves little Lunar and sings him to sleep. Dahata softens toward him just enough to let him keep those moments.

* * *

The first time he meets Kozmotis Pitchiner, something in him... settles. _Oh_ , the nameless Something says. _There you are, my brother. What took you so long?_ Kozmotis hands him a blade and teaches him to use it. (If he feels that strange sense of recognition, he never says so. Corisahar only remembers what he wants to ask when Pitchiner isn't there, and eventually he lets it go. It's not that important, anyway.)

* * *

The last time he meets Kozmotis Pitchiner, the nameless Something is screaming at him to stop, begging him not to fight. _We are the last_ , the Something weeps, _we are the last; you_ _ **cannot**_ _kill him_. But... but Pitchiner is Corrupted now. He will kill the Tsar and Tsarina. _Good_ , the Something snarls. Pitchiner will kill Lunar, too. Lunar is a Very Small One still. It's not _Lunar's_ fault the Corrupted One is trying to kill him. _Fine_ , the Something sighs. _If I must. For the Small One_ _ **only**_ _, though. His parents are welcome to_ _ **rot**_ _._

* * *

The blade strikes true. The blade strikes. The blade. His ears ring, and his head is _splitting_ , and he doesn't know how long he is trapped inside the blade but he knows that when the moonbeam asks his name he doesn't remember what the answer is. 

* * *

He laughs and pretends it doesn't bother him, that he doesn't want to know. He is good at pretending.

* * *

And then there is the village, and he defends the children, because it is The Right Thing To Do, because it is Familiar, because they are Small Ones and he cannot bear to see them hurt. (It is the only thing he remembers how to do.)

* * *

He defends, he defends, he _defends_. (He was born in a war, once. It is in his blood to seek the battlefield.)

* * *

He doesn't know what to do with peace. It sits uncomfortably on his skin like a coat tailored for someone else, and he catches himself tearing at the skin around his fingernails for lack of anything else to do (for lack of _pain_ , too, but he doesn't tell anyone that. It would only upset them.). He feels guilty, and goes to Toothiana so she can patch him up because he doesn't trust his faulty memory to remember how. She looks at him and Knows in the way soldiers always Know. ...He is not a soldier, is he? He can't be, his body isn't fifteen yet. (His head aches all the time now, a steady pulsing behind his eyes that echoes all the way down to his bones.)

* * *

Katherine grins at him and calls him her star-boy. He shakes and tries not to be sick. “Don't call me that,” he croaks, wild-eyed, relieved that he can unstick the words from behind his teeth long enough for this. “Don't call me that.” His own voice feels strange in his mouth he hasn't used it in so long. It doesn't _sound_ _right_ , either, but so little is truly familiar to him that it doesn't upset him as much as it should. Katherine nods, “I won't call you that anymore. I'm sorry.” 

"Not your fault." 

* * *

There is a woman with a blade in her hand. There is a woman with a blade in her hand, with skin of precious gems. There is a woman and she smiles at him, whispering, “it'll be alright. Soon, little one, you will be my star-boy and my soldier both. It won't hurt a bit, little one.” He doesn't believe her. (Poison is... poison is... oh gods, his _head_.)

* * *

Nightlight doesn't like sweets very much. He wants to, if only because the others seem to enjoy them, but even Bunnymund's chocolates taste bitter in his mouth.

* * *

There is a little girl standing in front of him and he freezes. There is a little girl in front of him with black ringlets and _brightbrightbright_ eyes and she is blurred at the edges. “Cor,” the girl says. “Cor, I'm scared.”

He crouches and smiles at her, tilting his head. (Merciful goddess, his head _hurts_.) He doesn't tell her not to be afraid. “Why?” he whispers, “why are you scared?”

The little girl cries, her tiny shoulders jerking with each stuttering breath. “It was d-dark in there and Papa wouldn't let me o-out!” He holds out a hand, intending to ask her what she means, and she flings herself into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. His skin _burns_ at the touch but he doesn't dare pull away. “Cor, I'm _scared_!”

“It's alright, tsarevna,” he rasps, shifting to pick her up and standing. “I'm not going anywhere.” (He failed to keep that promise once. He won't do it again.) 


End file.
